As Dr. Omotayo Adekunle’s rich baritone introduced him to the gathered students, Tara’s head snapped up.
Their eyes locked.
Tayo didn’t blink.
Instead, a slow, smug smirk danced at the edge of his lips.
She was wearing LASUTH scrubs. That amused him.
He leaned slightly toward Dr. Williams, still keeping his gaze on Tara. "Who’s that student in the second line?"
Dr. Williams looked. "Tara Adediran. She’s one of the top-performing students here for the cardiology rotation."
That made Tayo’s grin widen.
Dr. Williams, confused but polite, smiled back.
"Welcome to LASUTH," Tayo said, now addressing the students. "You’re here for your six-month rotation. This won’t be easy, but I assure you—it’ll be unforgettable."
Beside him stood Dr. Ifeanyi Obasi (General Surgery), Dr. Fatimah Idris (Pediatrics), and Dr. Dapo Oladele (Anesthesiology). These three were also part of the welcoming briefing.
"Let’s get one thing straight," Tayo continued, pacing lightly. "This isn’t a classroom. You’ll be seeing real patients. Real cases. Real death. So if you faint at the sight of blood, now’s a good time to go back home."
A few students chuckled nervously.
"Each of you was chosen because of your academic performance, your recommendations, and your interest in specialization. You’ll be assigned a mentor from one of our departments. You’ll learn under them, assist in cases, and at the end of six months, you’ll conduct a project involving real-life application and defend it."
He paused, eyes resting once more on Tara. She quickly looked away.
"I know some of you may not have seen a real body before," he added, smirking, "but don’t worry. You’ll see plenty—feel free to look all you want."
More laughter followed, but Tara’s palms grew clammy. She wished the tiled floor would split open and drag her down.
Dr. Williams stepped forward with the list. "Pairings as follows: Daniel and Benita — you’re with Dr. Fatimah. Simi and Esther — Dr. Ifeanyi. Usman and Hanna — Dr. Dapo."
Everyone turned toward the last student—Tara.
Tayo stepped forward again. "Every hospital has a Nurse Titi. But apparently, here we’ve got a Tara and Tayo—T & T. Looks like you're stuck with me."
Everyone laughed.
Tara didn’t.
He continued, "Alright. Mentors, please take your students to your departments. Except Tara, you’re staying."
The crowd cleared out until it was just the two of them.
He turned to her with mock seriousness. "So… we meet again."
Tara swallowed.
Before she could speak, Dr. Sola Falade—one of the hospital's senior consultants—entered. "Tayo, the foreign surgeons are here."
Tayo nodded. "Perfect. Tara, you’re joining me for the surgical briefing. Consider this your first assignment as… my intern."
Tara’s heart skipped.
Four foreign surgeons were already seated when they arrived—Dr. Craig Williams, a tall, stern-looking Brit; Dr. Jean-Pierre Lavalle, a charming Frenchman with silver hair; Dr. Kenji Mori, a quiet Japanese specialist; and Dr. Lena Novak, a poised and elegant cardiac surgeon from Poland.
A large projector lit up the surgical conference room. Tayo took the lead, opening the session with a breakdown of a rare and complicated heart case: Bentall Procedure for an aortic root aneurysm.
Tara, seated at the back, scribbled furiously in her notepad, trying to absorb everything.
Midway through, Dr. Lavalle glanced toward her.
"Pardon, Dr. Adekunle. That last point—perhaps the student would like to explain why we prefer a composite graft in this scenario over valve-sparing options?"
Tayo turned.
"Tara?"
She froze.
"Please answer." he added with a grin.
Heat flushed her cheeks. She was trembling. But this was a topic she had read deeply about. She steadied herself.
"The choice of a composite graft in Bentall’s procedure," she began, voice shaky at first, "is often due to the presence of a dilated aortic root with diseased valve leaflets, making valve-sparing techniques riskier. Composite grafts ensure both aortic root and valve replacement in one procedure, especially in Marfan syndrome patients."
Silence.
Then Dr. Novak nodded. "Impressive."
The others murmured approval.
Tayo just gave a small nod.
After the briefing, the team escorted the surgeons to Section H where their helicopter was waiting. As they shook hands, Dr. Novak turned to Tara.
"You’re going to be a hotshot surgeon someday. Just pay attention."
Tara’s heart soared. That was the first compliment from a surgeon—let alone a foreign one. Her mind already bookmarked it for her diary.
Then came Tayo’s voice.
"We’re heading out for routine rounds. Come with me."
---
The female ward buzzed with soft conversations, low moans, and the occasional beep of monitors.
Tayo moved confidently, clipboard in hand.
"Mama Ronke," he greeted one elderly woman. "E bawo ni, mama? Inu yin n dun bayi?" (How are you feeling now?)
She smiled weakly. "Dokita mi, inu mi ti dun die. O se gan."
He gently checked her IV. "A ma tọju yin dada, ma binu. Tara, note down her BP."
He moved to another bed. An older Hausa woman looked up fearfully.
"Yaya kike, Hajiya? Kin sha magani jiya?" (How are you, madam? Did you take your medicine yesterday?)
She nodded. "Na sha, Doctor."
"Lafiya. Za mu dubaki sosai."
Tara was quietly stunned.
Then, to a younger Igbo woman on oxygen, he said in warm Pidgin:
"My sister, how your body now? Dem give you that heart medicine I order?"
She chuckled. "Yes, Doctor Tayo. I dey manage."
He patted her arm. "You go dey alright. Just dey cooperate."
The nurses hovered nearby, eyes full of sparkles. Tayo winked at one and asked, "Nurse Tope, that injection una give Mama Ronke this morning—wetin be the dosage again?"
"10ml, sir."
Tara rolled her eyes. All of them are doing audition for The Bachelor.
They returned to the office and Tayo handed her a folder. "Heart transplant prep. Patient is scheduled for surgery in two days. Go through this thoroughly. You’ll assist."
Before she could sit, the door opened.
She walked in like she owned the room—Naomi Badmus, tall, caramel-skinned, effortlessly stunning. Her white lab coat had her name, specialty, and rank engraved on the breast pocket:
Dr. Naomi Badmus, MD
Consultant Dermatologist
She strolled past Tara like she was a shadow.
Tayo stood up. "Naomi."
They hugged. She didn’t let go immediately.
Tara's internal alarm screamed: Clingy alert. Mayday. Mayday.
Naomi finally sat, crossing her legs like she was about to do a Vogue shoot.
"So who’s the new girl?" she asked, as if Tara were a handbag.
"My intern," Tayo replied.
Naomi smirked. "Cute."
She leaned toward him, clearly invading personal space. "Tayo, there’s this shop down the road—they sell freshly squeezed pineapple and lemon drink. It’s heaven, I swear. I’ve been craving it."
Tayo chuckled. "You and your juice cravings."
She pouted. "Can’t a girl indulge once in a while?"
Tara was already rolling her eyes so hard, they nearly left her sockets.
Naomi suddenly looked Tara’s way. "Why don’t you get it for us? Please? Two shops left of the gate."
Tara blinked.
She wanted to scream “Do I look like your maid, Miss Pineapple Punch?” but instead she nodded. Her scholarship. Her GPA. Her parents. It all flashed before her.
Tayo handed her some cash, smirking.
She hissed under her breath as she stormed out.
"First day on the job and I’m already playing juice delivery girl for clingy barbie and fine-boy doctor. Pineapple drink ko, Vitamin C nonsense ni. If I come back and she says she wants shawarma too, I’ll scream."
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